


Take the Lead

by Kahtya Sofia (KahtyaSofia)



Series: You Can Leave Your Hat On [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Barebacking, Bondage, Dancing, Dom/sub, Dream Sex, Established Relationship, Hats, M/M, Plot What Plot, Singing, Suit Porn, You Can Leave Your Hat On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-15
Updated: 2011-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KahtyaSofia/pseuds/Kahtya%20Sofia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur surprises Eames with a little dream-singing, dream-dancing, and dream-sex. Eames has no trouble taking the lead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take the Lead

**Author's Note:**

> While watching Inception for the thousandth time, I caught sight of Arthur's braces, peeking out from beneath his waistcoat. I realized that I have themes in my fandoms; things that reoccur usually in canon, but a few are in fanon. I decided to write 4 fics, in 4 fandoms, linked to one another by: a character that regularly wears suits, the suits include waistcoats and braces, and a character portrayed by an actor who can sing. Because I was able to locate pics of the suit-wearing-singing actors wearing hats, I decided to add that in as well. The theme in each story is the song, 'You Can Leave Your Hat On'. Because all four stories are M/M, the [Etta James version](http://youtu.be/pO5sE-38MpA) of the song is the one I wrote to.
> 
> Each of the four stories can stand alone. You can read one, or you can read all four, it's reader's choice.
> 
> The fandoms for which I wrote a story are:  
> [Torchwood  
> ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/184157)[Generation Kill](http://archiveofourown.org/works/184155)  
> [Inception  
> ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/184150)[White Collar](http://archiveofourown.org/works/184788)
> 
> [](http://s664.photobucket.com/albums/vv10/kahtyasofia/You%20Can%20Leave%20Your%20Hat%20On/?action=view&current=jgl.png) [](http://s664.photobucket.com/albums/vv10/kahtyasofia/You%20Can%20Leave%20Your%20Hat%20On/?action=view&current=29573088.jpg) (and to avoid confusion, this is a fainting couch) [](http://s664.photobucket.com/albums/vv10/kahtyasofia/You%20Can%20Leave%20Your%20Hat%20On/?action=view&current=AESexCouch.jpg)

Eames pushed up the hem of his suit coat and pressed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. For what felt like the hundredth time in the last few minutes, he glanced over at Arthur. They were walking down the pavement, shoulder-to-shoulder, and Eames couldn’t get enough of looking at him.

They had just completed an extraction - a lavish affair, straight out of 1940’s Hollywood film noir. Arthur had played the hardboiled cop on the trail of a murderer, complete with double-breasted pinstriped suit and fedora. Cobb and Eames had played Arthur’s fellow - subordinate - detectives, and Eames hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of Arthur the entire dream. He’d never been as relieved as when Cobb had figured out the mark had stashed her secrets in a hidden compartment inside of a floor clock, and had extracted them quickly and cleanly.

Eames had been prepared for Arthur’s orchestrated kicks, but he hadn’t administered them. Oh, he’d sent Cobb topside, with a warning that Arthur was staying behind with Eames for a tick. Arthur had informed Cobb that he’d be locked out of the PASIV for the duration of the timer, so he’d be unable to immediately come back down. Cobb had begun to protest, but Arthur had tipped him down the stairs of the block of flats, sending him out of the dream.

Then, Arthur had turned to Eames and asked if he fancied drinks at a pub Arthur had constructed nearby. Arthur had been looking up from beneath the brim of his hat when he’d issued the invite, and Eames was helpless to decline.

“Is it much further?” Eames asked, hoping to get Arthur to glance at him from under the fedora’s brim again.

Arthur obliged him. “Just up ahead, on the right.”

Eames followed Arthur through a pair of swinging wood-and-glass doors. Immediately, the sights and sounds of the establishment assailed him. On the far side of the extremely large room, was a raised stage. It was occupied by an orchestra, playing big-band swing music. Couples moved energetically on the dance floor. White-topped tables, occupied by still more couples, surrounded the dance floor. Beautiful people, dressed in beautiful clothes, moved all about the establishment.

A pretty young lady, in a long, elegant gown escorted them to an empty table immediately next to the dance floor. A waiter in white tails took their drinks order. Another pretty girl, wearing a short skirted uniform - complete with brass buttons and pillbox hat - offered cigarettes and chewing gum from the tray hanging about her neck. They both refused.

“This is all really quite lovely, Arthur,” Eames said, when the orchestra took a break, “but may I ask why you’ve brought me here?”

Arthur sipped his drink. “I thought it would be fun. Aren’t you having fun, Eames?”

Eames watched Arthur’s passive face closely. He wasn’t sure if this was meant to be an enjoyable diversion, a date, or an opportunity for dream shagging. Arthur was usually much more direct in what he expected from Eames.

“Well, we’ve only just arrived, now haven’t we?” Eames hedged, searching for a hint or a tell. “Am I meant to have a drink and relax with a friend? Am I meant listen to the delightful music? Or are you going to lead me in a waltz around the dance floor?”

“Can’t it be all three?” the shift in Arthur’s features was minute, but to Eames’ practiced eye, it constituted a smile.

He returned Arthur’s smile, honestly delighted. This was a date. “It absolutely can be all three.”

Eames relaxed in his chair as Arthur chatted him up. They discussed the success of their job, which of the pending offers they perhaps ought to take, and other things so mundane they didn’t matter. It was simply nice to be spending time with Arthur.

The orchestra launched into a waltz and Arthur stood. He offered his hand to Eames, smile just a little wider now.

Eames stood, straightened the double-breasted coat of his charcoal pinstriped suit and placed his hand in Arthur’s.

“I warn you,” Eames said, as Arthur pulled him into a dance hold, “I’m used to leading.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Arthur said, pressing his lips to Eames’ ear.

Eames closed his eyes briefly at the feel of Arthur’s warm breath ghosting across the shell of his ear.

It really wasn’t all that difficult. Arthur was a strong and confident lead and Eames discovered that all the steps were the same; he simply performed them in reverse. He glanced around and wondered how women did this sort of thing those delightful high heels they so often wore. If he ever had to do this in a forge, he was going to require a great deal of rehearsal.

Eames relaxed into the dance. They were pressed together at their chests, bellies, and hips, their feet sliding along the floor in perfect synchronicity. Eames enjoyed feeling the heat of Arthur’s body against his own. Arthur’s hand at the small of his back was firm and confident, and Eames remembered the feel of that hand skimming across his bare skin.

He turned his head slightly, and nuzzled the fragrant space just below Arthur’s ear. Eames let the swaying motion of their dance rub his hardening cock against Arthur’s hip in a slow and sensual tease. Every few steps, Eames could feel Arthur’s burgeoning erection pressing into him.

The tune ended and Eames was acutely disappointed. Arthur escorted him back to their table, his hand pressed possessively to the small of Eames’ back. He still felt the heat of it, even through the layers of his suit.

Arthur made sure Eames was comfortable, even getting him another drink, but didn’t take his own seat. Instead, Eames watched in curious confusion as Arthur removed his suit coat, and draped it over the back of his chair. He started to take off the fedora, and Eames made a sound of protest.

Glancing up, Arthur’s hand froze on the crown of the hat. He smiled at Eames, the small smile that just hinted at his dimples. “Oh really?” he asked. “So you like the hat?”

Heat pooled low in Eames’ belly, hardening his cock just a bit more. “Indeed. It’s a good look on you.”

Without explanation, Arthur turned away and began to walk toward the stage. Eames watched him go, mouth open slightly in surprise. Where in the bloody hell was Arthur going? He almost called after him, to ask what he was about.

Eames’ voice caught in his throat when Arthur leapt agilely onto the stage. He looked absolutely delectable, standing beneath the spotlights in a bright white dress shirt and his dark trousers and waistcoat. His deep red tie added just the right splash of colour. But the hat - it was the hat that was the _piece de resistance_.

Arthur stepped to the edge of the stage and curled his longer fingers around the large, vintage microphone. Eames looked on in stunned fascination, and no small amount of curiosity, as Arthur turned to the orchestra and counted them in.

Eames had expected a jazzy swing tune. What he heard instead was a decidedly funky blues number. It was all Eames could do to stay in his chair, when Arthur turned back and began to sing.

He never suspected. Not once, did Eames ever suspect Arthur could sing. He might have heard him, once or twice, humming in tune. Even if Eames had heard him singing in the shower, he never could have suspected that Arthur would step onto a stage and croon a rather naughty song.

As Eames watched, Arthur performed the song with enthusiasm. He seemed to actively engage the crowd of projections. Arthur even caressed the microphone stand. Eames felt a harsh burst of lust settle low and heavy in his belly.

It abruptly occurred to Eames that Arthur was not, in fact, singing to a rather large crowd. These were projections of Arthur’s own subconscious. This was a not a public performance; this was a private performance for one.

Eames was privy to a very private show.

He couldn’t help the ridiculously pleased smile that spread across his face. Eames finally focused on the lyrics of the song, and he burst out laughing.

Keep the hat on, indeed.

Arthur finished his song and gave a sweeping bow to the appreciative crowd. No one, including Eames, could say Arthur didn’t have a rather large ego. Eames stood with the crowd and raucously applauded the performance. When Arthur reached their table, he once again drew Eames into a dance hold. This time though, his arm was atop Eames’s. The orchestra began a new song.

“Do you rumba?” he asked Arthur, surprised to be given even this small bit of control.

“I can pull it off,” Arthur replied, “if you’re a capable lead.”

Eames glowered at Arthur’s blatant challenge, but couldn’t help the smile that slipped through. He pulled Arthur’s lean hardness against his body. With a subtle shift of his weight and a firm press of his hand at the small of Arthur’s back, Eames led them into the dance.

Arthur melted against him, any resistance bleeding away in an instant. It was so unlike him, to relinquish control voluntarily, Eames felt knocked back a step. He wondered if this was the theme for the evening, or if Arthur would reassert himself when the dance ended. Either way, it was proving to be quite an entertaining night.

They moved well together; smooth and graceful. Eames thoroughly enjoyed the press of Arthur’s body against his own. Arthur was firm and lithe, easily following Eames’ lead. Eames again pressed his nose just beneath Arthur’s ear. He smelled delicious - a combination of his own scent and a subtle, yet masculine, cologne.

The rumba is a sexy dance, filled with slow, sensual turns and heated eye contact. It felt like foreplay on the dance floor. Eames let his burgeoning erection graze against Arthur’s hip as they danced. He very much wanted Arthur to know he was thoroughly enjoying himself, and was ready to take their fun just a bit further. Eames wasn’t sure how much time was left on the PASIV, so he had no idea if Arthur had planned to shag in the dream, or return topside.

The music ended and Arthur pulled back slightly. “Come with me to the men’s room?” he asked Eames persuasively, rather than demanding.

Perhaps that was a clue. Eames allowed himself to be dragged toward the gent’s. He enjoyed watching Arthur walk; straight-backed and loose-limbed. The waistcoat made his shoulders appear broader, his waist narrower. It all emphasized Arthur’s pert, rounded arse lovingly cupped by his tailored trousers. Eames felt his banked desire flare, burning hot in his belly.

Arthur had paid close attention to detail, even in the men’s. It was opulent and well appointed. It even had an outer lounge, complete with plush chaises, one of which was a backless fainting couch.

Once inside, Arthur slowly walked down the line of stalls. He languidly pushed each one open, verifying it was unoccupied. It was an odd thing to do since this was Arthur’s dream and he could simply dream the room empty. Eames said nothing though, enjoying the sight of Arthur prowling about with a feline grace.

When he’d verified the last stall was unoccupied, Arthur turned and stalked toward Eames. His expression was feral and Eames’s response was a hot wave of desire coursing through his chest. Eames let Arthur press him backward into the door. He heard the lock slide into place when Arthur reached past him to secure it.

Eames curled his fists into the fabric of his waistcoat. He could feel Arthur’s braces just beneath, felt a sudden urge to use them to hold Arthur against him. Eames closed his eyes as Arthur leaned in, his head canted to accommodate his hat.

He expected soft, warm lips, and a kiss of seduction. What Eames received was a bruising collision of mouths and Arthur’s tongue aggressively chasing his own. Not that Eames minded. He gasped harshly, the leading edge of pain shooting through his groin when Arthur grabbed him and squeezed.

Eames shoved Arthur backward. “Bloody hell, Arthur,” he growled, tightening his grip on Arthur’s waistcoat. “Is that how you want to play it, then?” His heart hammered in his chest, and Eames resisted the urge to react fast and harsh.

He _liked_ Arthur behaving dangerously. Eames enjoyed _feeling_ dangerous, knowing Arthur could handle it.

With one hand, Eames gripped Arthur’s chin. He squeezed brutally, digging his fingers into the hollows of Arthur’s cheeks. With his other hand, Eames tore open the buttons of Arthur’s waistcoat. He forced Arthur’s face to the side, biting down on the tendon in the side of his neck hard enough to make Arthur drag a harsh breath in through his clenched teeth.

Eames released Arthur’s face and wound both hands into Arthur’s braces. He loved the feel of the crisp fabric of Arthur’s shirt beneath the backs of his hands. He could feel the heat of Arthur’s body seeping through. Eames tilted his head so that he could slip beneath the brim of Arthur’s hat. He pressed his lips to Arthur’s parted mouth, sweeping his tongue along his swollen lower lip.

Arthur bit him. Eames shoved Arthur backward and his hands came up to steady himself by gripping Eames’ wrists. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Eames blurted.

Arthur’s mouth was opened slightly, his chest heaved as he panted through his parted lips. Eames had momentarily forgotten Arthur’s earlier aggression; he’d been momentarily lost in pleasure of him. Eames noticed the pupils of Arthur’s dark eyes were blown wide. He was flushed, colour high on his cheeks, and he was breathing as though he’d sprinted a mile. Eames loved him like this; beautiful in a dangerous way and just beginning to unravel.

A thought struck Eames with the suddenness of a thunderclap. He wondered how he could have been so bloody stupid. They were both so adept at riling one another up; Eames occasionally forgot that Arthur wasn’t always taking the piss. The realisation of how great his responsibility to Arthur was, stole his breath.

“I suppose I should be glad you didn’t punch me,” Eames murmured, loosening Arthur’s tie and tugging it from his collar. The dark silk came away with a high, singing whine of fabric on fabric. Eames jerked Arthur’s shirt tails from his trousers. He grabbed a portion of hem in each hand and yanked his fists apart. Arthur gasped as the fabric parted and buttons clattered around them.

“Fuck,” Arthur gasped.

Eames grasped his chin again, pressing Arthur’s cheeks painfully against his own teeth. “You have something to say?” he asked, lacing his voice with menace.

Arthur’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.

“That’s what I thought.” Eames stepped back from Arthur. Without breaking eye contact, he lifted Arthur’s tie, stringing it between both of his hands like an offering.

He watched Arthur swallow hard. Arthur hated it when Eames did this, which is why it delighted him so. Arthur pushed and provoked, silently begging Eames to push back and just _take_. Instead, Eames demanded Arthur’s _surrender_.

Arthur’s hands shook slightly when he lifted them and placed one in each of Eames’.

Eames bit back a smile, as triumph swelled his chest. “Now there’s a good lad,” Eames teased, looping the tie around each of Arthur’s wrists, tying it off tightly. He’d never make the knot this tight outside of a dream. Perhaps that was at the heart of why they were doing this here.

Eames grabbed Arthur’s braces and used them to drag him to the fainting couch. He hooked his leg behind one of Arthur’s, unbalancing him. Arthur collapsed, with a soft grunt, onto the well-stuffed upholstery. He stepped back and considered what to do.

Conventional wisdom would dictate that Eames throw Arthur face down on the lounge and fuck him until he screamed. The difficulty was that Arthur quite frequently flew in the face of conventional wisdom.

As Eames considered his options, he began to unbutton his suit coat. Arthur’s eyes avidly followed the movements of his fingers. He carelessly tossed the garment aside, his use for it at an end. As Eames unfastened his tie, he kicked off his shoes. To his satisfaction, Arthur’s eyes never left his fingers.

Shedding his shirt, Eames settled on a plan. He’d begin with what Arthur expected. When Arthur grew comfortable, Eames would shift things around. Oh, he’d pin him down onto the couch, but Arthur would be frustrated and begging to come, rather than to be fucked.

Eames shoved and shifted Arthur until he was pressed to the back of the lounge. Arthur’s eyes dropped to Eames’ hands, where they opened his belt and button, then lowered the zip of his trousers. Eames straddled Arthur’s hips, using his belly to force Arthur’s head backward, until it rested on the couch back. Reaching into his own pants, Eames slid himself out of the fabric, letting his hard cock dance freely just out of reach of Arthur’s mouth.

Eames watched Arthur watching him intently from beneath the brim of his hat. He reached both hands to Arthur’s shoulders and curled his fists into the braces on Arthur’s shoulders, winding the elastic ‘round and ‘round until it was taut. Then, Eames pressed his palms to the fabric on either side of Arthur’s head, pinning him in place.

He liked Arthur this way, eager and needy, looking to Eames for what he needed. Eames dragged the head of his cock along Arthur’s parted lips. Eames painted his mouth with pre-come, thoroughly enjoying the sight.

“Open,” Eames growled the order.

To his delight, Arthur complied immediately. He opened his mouth wide, sticking out his tongue in lewd invitation. Eames shoved himself in, sliding along Arthur’s flat tongue until he almost felt the tight clench of Arthur’s throat. Eames had him roughly restrained against the back of the couch, and Arthur could do nothing more than suck at him and try to breathe.

Eames flexed his hips, sliding himself in and out of the tight, hot suction of Arthur’s mouth. The elastic of Arthur’s braces cut into the flesh of his hands, but it was a pleasant pain. He watched Arthur’s eyes grow heavy-lidded as Eames fucked his mouth. His breathing was harsh, as he just began to struggle around the length of Eames pressing toward his throat.

Arthur sucked hard, pressing up with his tongue. Eames loved when he did that - making it a hot, wet combination of friction and pressure. Arthur was capable and precise. Eames was bloody well going to make him clumsy and messy.

“Open wide, Arthur,” Eames ordered, hoping Arthur couldn’t hear how breathy his voice was.

Arthur obeyed, letting his jaw fall open. Eames leaned all of his weight against Arthur’s body, pushing his hips forward relentlessly. He slid his cock deep into Arthur’s mouth, pressing inexorably into his throat. Arthur’s breathing was harsh and loud in the quiet room.

Eames felt the head of his dick bump against resistant flesh. Arthur was a lovely sight, lips and nose buried in the coarse hair at the base of Eames’ cock. Each exhalation was hot against Eames’ belly, and the brim of Arthur’s hat tickled slightly.

“Steady, Arthur,” Eames said, equal parts demanding and coaxing.

Arthur’s throat flexed around the head of Eames’ cock. He made lewd gagging and choking sounds as he struggled to keep his reflex suppressed. Eames felt those sounds all the way in his balls. He breathed deeply, struggling for control.

He willed himself to relax as he pulled out from Arthur’s mouth. His cock glistened with Arthur’s spit, a long string of which stretched like a leash from his dick to Arthur’s lower lip. He watched Arthur struggle to get back his breath, each inhale a rasping gasp. Arthur’s eyes watered slightly, but no tears spilled over yet.

This wouldn’t work if Eames allowed Arthur time to recover. He had no intention of disappointing Arthur. “Open up,” he said firmly, his voice sounding raw to his own ears.

Arthur didn’t hesitate. He parted his lips and extended his tongue and swallowed Eames right down on the first thrust of his hips. Eames’s blood roared through his veins at the feel of Arthur’s mouth around him. Arthur was still hanging onto his own control, and Eames had to set about stripping it away.

He shifted his grip in Arthur’s braces, ensuring he was well pinned to the couch. Eames fucked Arthur’s mouth. He listened to the wet, sucking sounds he forced out of Arthur, striving to drag more of those harsh grunts from him. Eames watched his reddened cock slide from Arthur’s lips, shiny-wet. He watched it disappear back inside, a shudder rolling through him at the feel of enveloping heat swallowing him clear to the root.

“Open wide, Arthur,” Eames barked again, already sliding himself toward Arthur’s throat.

He watched Arthur’s eyes widen as he struggled to take all of Eames with so little warning. Eames pressed himself deep into Arthur’s throat, listening to him choke and gag. Spit pooled hot in Arthur’s mouth and Eames moaned at the sensation. Arthur’s eyes were as wet as his mouth, tears leaking from the corners and running down his cheeks.

“Take it, take it, take it,” Eames cajoled, telling Arthur he had no choice but to submit.

Eames withdrew and Arthur sucked in a breath on a high pitched gasp. His chest heaved with each inhalation. Arthur’s mouth was red and swollen and Eames couldn’t wait to slide his cock back inside.

“I’m going to come in your mouth now, Arthur,” Eames declared, pressing his hips toward Arthur’s face.

Arthur swallowed him down with little difficulty but Eames could tell his composure was frayed. Eames felt the slightest graze of teeth and Arthur looked up at him with desperate eyes.

“Suck harder, Arthur,” Eames growled.

Arthur complied, but with difficulty. Eames fucked his face mercilessly. He set a frantic pace, giving Arthur little opportunity to adjust to him, and no opportunity at all to think anything through.

The heat of Arthur’s mouth and the clench of his throat started dragging Eames’ climax out of him. His balls began to rise and heat rolled from his spine, through his pelvis, and settled in his belly. He tried to hold it off, wanting to push Arthur just a little further. The sight of Arthur’s tear-streaked face was his undoing.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Eames moaned, pressing his hips forward and coming against the back of Arthur’s throat.

Arthur had no choice but to swallow, his throat working convulsively around Eames’ cock. His breathing was ragged and he gagged wetly. Eames watched some of his come spill from the corner of Arthur’s mouth.

Eames pulled out and Arthur coughed violently. He settled back onto his heels, releasing Arthur’s braces. He ran his hands soothingly over Arthur’s bare chest, feeling the heat beneath his palms. Arthur lay limp against the back of the coach. His hat was slightly askew, obviously jostled in the violence of Eames’ orgasm.

Reaching forward, Eames adjusted Arthur’s hat. He had to admit, it was a rather fetching accessory.

Eames slowly stood, and pushed his trousers the rest of the way down his hips and thighs. Arthur shifted, looking as though he might attempt to turn over. Eames grabbed Arthur’s thighs in a hard grip and pressed him down into the couch, face up.

Arthur made a sound of protest. Eames pressed his thighs forcefully into the couch and Arthur aborted whatever resistance he’d been about to launch. Arthur let his head back against the couch, watching Eames eagerly.

Eames stood beside the couch, naked. He stroked his erection languidly, teasing Arthur with the sight of his hardness. Eames really was rather fond of dream sex, if for this reason alone.

Reaching for Arthur’s fly, Eames opened his trousers. He took Arthur’s erection from inside his pants. He shoved the elastic band down beneath Arthur’s sac, putting his cock and balls on a rather lovely display.

Eames straddled Arthur’s hips once again, this time keeping both of his feet on the floor. For a brief moment his mind searched for the presence of a lube bottle. Eames smiled to himself, remembering the second reason he adored dream sex.

He rose up to position Arthur’s cock at his opening, when Arthur made a quiet, strangled sound of protest. Eames skimmed his hands over Arthur’s chest, and pinched his nipples hard.

“Have you so little faith?” Eames asked, expecting no answer.

The desperate look was back in Arthur’s eyes. Eames roughly grabbed his bound hands and pressed them up over his head.

“Really, Arthur,” he said, with mock disdain, “just shut up and take what I give you.”

He was relieved when he felt Arthur’s tension shift from anxious to anticipatory.

Eames rose up again, positioned Arthur’s cock, then sank down onto it. Arthur was hot and hard inside of him. The burn and stretch were perfect. The hair on Arthur’s thighs tickled slightly when Eames’ arse came to rest along the tops of them. Eames felt his balls press against Arthur’s belly. He clenched himself around Arthur’s cock, feeling it press up deep inside of himself.

Arthur made a choking sound. He started to lift his hands from over his head. Eames gave him a pointed look and a slight shake of his head. Arthur let his hands fall back down.

“There’s a good lad,” Eames breathed. He placed both hands on Arthur’s ribcage and pressed him down. Eames held Arthur steady, while he fucked himself on his cock.

He watched Arthur watching him. He watched Arthur struggle with his own need to assert and control. He watched Arthur battle with the urge to wrest control from Eames and fuck up into him, hard and fast. Eames listened to the soft, breathy grunts Arthur made, each time he came down, all the way, onto his cock.

Each time Arthur tried to shift up off the couch, Eames pushed him back down. He rode Arthur at a slow and steady pace, loving it, the slow-slick glide of Arthur’s erection sliding deep inside of him. He loved the frustrated frown forming between Arthur’s brows. Eames wanted to reach out and smooth the frown away, but he resisted. He wouldn’t let Arthur down with tenderness that wasn’t what he needed right now.

“Eames,” Arthur pleaded in a rough voice. He’d begun to clench and twist his hands in their restraints.

“Shut up, Arthur,” Eames snapped, adding strength to his voice and hands to keep Arthur under his control.

A full body shudder rolled through Arthur’s frame. His mouth fell open as his moaning became more pronounced. Eames slid his hands up to Arthur’s chest. He was ready when Arthur’s spine arched up off the couch.

Eames twisted each of Arthur’s nipples between a thumb and forefinger. He kept his pace on Arthur’s cock steady. “Don’t you do it, Arthur,” Eames said harshly. “Don’t you fucking do it, ‘til I say.”

“Fuck, Eames, I have to ...” Arthur panted, struggling to thrust his hips upward, at the same time he tried to twist away from Eames’ fingers.

“You have better self-control that that,” he tightened his grip on Arthur’s reddened nipples. “We both know you do. Now use it.”

Arthur bit down on his lips, as if holding back his moans would hold off his climax. Eames increased his pace slightly, the slap of their skin meeting, adding to Arthur’s tortured sounds.

Eames knew the moment that Arthur’s famed self-control shattered. He came off the couch with a strangled shout, bound hands clutching at Eames’ chest. Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur, holding him close as the orgasm ripped through Arthur’s frame. He felt Arthur’s cock pulse inside of him, the hot wash of Arthur’s come coating him thoroughly. Eames pushed Arthur’s hat from his head, and ran a hand soothingly through Arthur’s sweaty hair. Arthur’s tremors shook the entire couch, vibrating up into Eames’ body.

As Eames held a sobbing Arthur to his chest, faint strains of music reached his ears. Excellent timing, as always, if he did say so himself. It would be easy to press Arthur into a bed and strip away his control by simply fucking him. It was more difficult, but far more rewarding, to strip Arthur of his control while he was clinging to it desperately.

Arthur gave one last, long shudder, and whispered against Eames’ neck, “See you up top?”

Eames nodded, allowing himself a triumphant smile. “Meet you there.”

He awoke gently. The dream had ended pleasantly, and running out the timer always meant a smooth transition.

The sight of Cobb’s face, however, made Eames laugh.

Cobb had propped himself against the table opposite of he and Arthur. His arms were crossed over his chest and he stood scowling at them, as if they were naughty children.

“What the hell was that all about?” he demanded.

Eames just continued to laugh as he removed the PASIV line from his wrist. He glanced over at Arthur, who was smiling as broad as Arthur ever smiled. His dimples were simply charming.

Arthur ignored Cobb. Removing his own PASIV line, he shook his head at Eames. “You’re a diabolical bastard, Eames,” he said.

“And yet, it was not I who programmed a PASIV to lock out the tourists, was it?” Eames stood and stretched, then helped Arthur to stand.

Cobb continued to watch them in angry bafflement.

“Shall we go then, Arthur?” Eames continued to ignore Cobb, even as he steered Arthur toward the exit with a hand in the small of his back. “I suddenly have a desperate need for a fag.”

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by planejane, who has my undying love and devotion.


End file.
